


Mirrored; Myself In Your Eyes

by drinktea



Series: i'm not so sure that this is love (don't tell me if it isn't) [3]
Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Character Study, F/M, GINAKA, Set during the movie, division one - Freeform, gino realizing his feelings, ginoaka, psycho pass movie spoilers, whether or not he does anything about them is another story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinktea/pseuds/drinktea
Summary: He fires shot after shot, the lethal eliminator dealing with its targets in the most final and bloody of ways. And when he finally touches down on the pavement, he notices the bruise blooming along her hairline. But this is not the time or place, so he holds his tongue.When she sends him away to find Kougami, he knows she's only doing so because she is dealing with something that is far more menacing—and he has no idea what those things may be.And it scares him.But mostly, it makes him proud, that she could surpass him so completely.-(As Inspector Tsunemori deals with the disaster of Shambala Float, Ginoza finds Division One rallying around the most unlikely of persons: himself. When did he get to be this pathetic?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this story heavily references the two seasons of Psycho Pass and the Psycho Pass movie. As such, there is violent imagery. Nothing horribly graphic, but I do reference very shocking moments in the series. I thought it fair to warn you, just in case!
> 
> There are also minor references to another one of my stories in this series, Hot & Bothered, Though Not Necessarily In That Order. Your understanding of this story won't be hindered too much without reading it, but I think it would definitely enhance the impact of this story! It's a different, lighter read than most stories in the Psycho Pass fandom (this story included), so if you're looking for a happy Ginoza/Akane story, click back!
> 
> So, after months since my last story in this series, I'm posting another! Truthfully, I had the bulk of it written out already but I just couldn't figure out how to write the end. Ginoza and Akane are just both so stubborn and subtle that it makes sense that their romance would be too. Hopefully I've done these goobers justice!

 

**+**

 

**AKANE**

Work returns in full force.

He knew that the foreign terrorists were bad news when they'd first shown up. The weaponry, the technology, the skill at fighting—it all pointed to something bigger. But  _this_? This is way messier than he'd credit anyone for.

Even Kougami.

As they walk down the sterile halls to the interrogation room, he keeps his eyes firmly focused on her back. "Inspector, you don't have to do this," he says, pitching his voice low enough so that the rest of their team won't hear.

But he knows what she must be seeing in her mind's eye: hair layered in dust, scrapes across every visible patch of skin, and yet alive and healthy and  _the same_ —Kougami. Kougami in civilian dress, in a foreign place, the images lifted straight from the brain of the man they are going to see right now.

Could he resist, if he were in her position?

They stop outside the room. The one-way glass reveals a man in a hospital gown, clean bandages wrapped around his head.

The Inspector stops outside the door. He searches her expression for any sort of giveaway, but she looks past him to the others. "Please listen from out here. I ask that you do your best to observe and remember details that I may miss," she says. They nod (Sugo, Hinakawa) or turn away, already intent on what's to happen (Shimotsuki, Kunizuka).

"Inspector," he tries again.

They're standing close, so close that she has to crane her neck to look him in the eye. Once she has his attention, she touches his wrist. Her fingers find their way past his cuff and straight to his skin. "Ginoza," she says softly, flinching not a bit, "Ginoza, can I count on you?"

He spares a brief ( _stunned_ ) glance at her fingers against the inside of his wrist, then looks back to her face. She seems so fragile and yet, still able to take a million times more weight, with her soft eyes and the hard, jagged line of her mouth. He remembers her first night, the night she shot Kougami, and how wide her eyes were then, how they were full of naiveté and surprise and  _determination_  and  _uncompromising challenge._

There was the memory scoop and her terrifying rigidity, the absolute hauntedness that cloaked her expression, the sound of her own scream echoing through her brain, magnified back to them as Makashima killed her best friend with a satisfied smile.

The fury and grief that struck her mere seconds after he was already there, holding her back as she promised hell to those who had hurt her grandmother. The smell of fire and ashes and blood mingled with the scents of sweat and desperation. He remembers being afraid for his cybernetic arm then—afraid that her rage would burn right through it.

And now, terrorists with special knowledge of their country, of Sybil, and most confusing of all, with knowledge of Kougami. Their infamous colleague-turned-convict, the one who upturned them both with his obsession. Something changed in the Inspector in the aftermath of Kougami's leaving: her footfalls came heavier and her sighs came deeper. He doesn't know what it is, but he's not stupid enough to assume that Kougami's entirely responsible (and he's not blind enough to assume that Kougami's not at least a  _little_  responsible).

This job has pulled her through hell and back again, and yet she continues. By any standard, the last four years have been total pandemonium. She's either inhuman or crazy to keep on going.

But then he thinks,  _no_ —she has  _ridden_  this wave through hell and back again. And he knows she would dive in again, willingly.

Maybe that makes her inhuman. Maybe that makes her crazy. But then, what is he? Because he knows, and has known for a long time, that he would pledge the rest of his career to her.

He looks at her, at the eyes made wise through all they've seen, and promises, "Yes."

She presses a bit tighter—against his mysteriously and suddenly pounding pulse—then lets go. "Come in with me," she commands, hand already on the doorknob, "and stop calling me Inspector."

He pushes the door open from behind her. "Only when you stop being one."

He knows the day will never come.

 

**+**

**AKANE II**

 

She packs her things quickly, efficiently and with no semblance of joy.

He stayed late on purpose today, pretending to look up other leads for the terrorist cells. Well, not  _pretending_  so much as exhausting every possible connection for hours on end and then eventually playing solitaire until she stood up from her desk.

He doesn't miss the package of cigarettes she tucks into the front compartment of her bag.

He clears his throat. She looks up at him.

"I applied for permission to accompany you, but it was declined," he tells her.

She tries to smile. "Well, a short term mission isn't all that common for an Inspector, let alone an Enforcer," she explains, stumbling over her words. Her eyes turn on him, and in them he finds an apology, confirms what he suspected.

_But why?_

"Then, I have a request," he says, turning away from his computer screen (he'd clicked away from solitaire long ago, just in case).

"Yes?" she asks, voice strangely tender.

Thinking of the cigarettes, he asks her to punch Kougami in the face. (A little for him, mostly for her, but he keeps this to himself.) She smiles and declines.

"I'll arrest him and bring him back to Japan," she says, voice a lot less melancholy than he expected, more steel and less silk, "then you can punch him yourself." She throws out her fists— _one, two_. When did she get so close? He can smell the starch on her suit as her fists swing past him.

Stunned to the stars, he can't do anything but break into laughter. She blinks at him, the edges of a smile on her lips. He can see the goodbye forming on her tongue.

"Tsunemori," he says, stopping her. He opens his gloved hand, offering her the lighter.

In the lamplight, the shadows across her face are dark and diffuse, but he can read the nervousness in her expression all the same. She reaches forward and takes the lighter from his hand. "Ginoza?"

He takes a deep breath in. "You don't have to tell me why. I know that you can take care of yourself. But I'd like you to know"—he doesn't mean to, but he pins her with the intensity of his gaze, and his next words feel like a vow—"you don't have to do this alone."

Her breath catches, however slight and however hard she tries to hide it. And then she's crouching and he's pitching forward and  _her face is so close to his_ —

Her breath is warm and it mingles with his hair, ghosts over the nape of his neck.  _She's hugging him_ , he realizes, arms thrown around his shoulders, and her legs are hitting the seat of his chair. He can't remember the last time he hugged someone (or that someone hugged him, to be accurate). But more importantly, this can't be comfortable for her, and he almost tells her so, but then she says—

" _You'll know when to come_."

She stands up, presses something into his hand, nods at him and leaves.

He looks down.

Hairties.

 

**+**

 

**SHIMOTSUKI**

 

The next few days are decidedly lackluster. He's not the type to sigh, or to hem and haw, but something about how slow time seems to pass makes him feel like he's back in grade school, restlessly waiting for the bell to ring. (Or in this case, for a sign to strike.)

Inspector Shimotsuki is slightly harder to bear without Tsunemori around, and maybe it's his imagination but she seems even  _more_  domineering than usual, and especially toward  _him_. He doesn't know what he did to earn her ire, and under normal conditions he would let it go. But it's been three days of her attitude and she shows no signs of lightening up.

Monday, work in the field: "Hound one, I can't see you. I don't like you where I can't see you. Get back within range."

Tuesday, a quickie case in the packing district: "This decision falls outside of your discretion,  _Enforcer_. Step aside,  _now_."

Wednesday, paperwork in the office and a tall stack of reports plunked down in his workspace: "Here, since you seem so capable of staring into nothingness."

It's only when she makes to grab at one of the hairties he keeps beside his computer monitor (for maybe more reasons than he'd care to admit to) that he moves to stop her.

"I'm in need of a hairtie. May I borrow this?" she says, already reaching forward to grab the little black band.

He grabs her wrist.

She glares down at him. She doesn't move her hand. Her hair hangs free.

"Inspector Shimotsuki. May I have a word?" he asks softly, looking her in the eye.

Her smile is trite. "I'm not in the mood."

"You're never in the mood, Inspector Shimotsuki," he says, managing to sound stern and put-out at the same time. He wonders at her odd behaviour. Though he disagrees with her choices occasionally, and she barely acknowledges him in areas other than fieldwork, she's never been quite so... purposefully antagonistic. He lets go of her wrist.

She doesn't make a move to take the hairtie again. Knowing she's beaten, she relents—"fine. Come on"—and steps away, already heading toward the balcony before he has a chance to protest her choice of rendezvous spot.

Kunizuka, who has no doubt heard everything, looks up from her computer screen and gives him an understanding nod as he rises from his seat.

(As he walks outside, he fixes his eyes on the figure standing at the guardrail and reminds himself that her hair is too long and she is slightly too short and that the air smells clean, not like the cigarette smoke he expects.)

Inspector Shimotsuki lightly leans against the guardrail, even going so far as to cross her arms. She barely breaks decorum, and he knows it's because she wants to command respect. He can hardly blame her. He makes sure to stand at the correct distance.

"What is it, Enforcer?" she snaps, and for some reason his instinct tells him that she's making an effort to be prickly.

But ever the professional, he chooses to brush this aside and instead strike at the heart of the issue. He clears his throat and clasps his hands at his front. "Inspector, have I done something to earn your acerbity as of late?"

The way her eyes blink a bit wider lets him know that he's surprised her with his straightforwardness. But she recovers almost instantly with a scoff, darting her gaze out over the city. "As if you could, Enforcer Ginoza. Your actions test me so often that I'm hardly bothered anymore." Her added eyeroll is subtle, but to his trained eye it's a sure giveaway that she's lying—she's overdoing it.

The stitching of his glove digs into his flesh-and-blood hand. He decides to test her some more. "The added paperwork?"

She pins him with a glare and fires back, "You are more than capable, aren't you?"

His eyes narrow. "Yes."

"Will that be all?" she asks, hair in her eyes. Too stubborn to break her posture to tuck it behind her ears.

He considers this, then looks over at her again. He'll make one last play, and it'll be a bold one. "I'm not imagining your behaviour toward me, Inspector. Everyone else has flown under the radar."

She rolls her eyes again, and finally her arms come out from around her torso. "Well,  _everyone else_  is on task, constantly. No one else is half as distracted as you, Enforcer Ginoza, whether it's out in the field or typing up reports. Did you think you could daydream and get away with it?"

Insulted, he makes to protest. Him,  _daydreaming_? He would never partake in such a frivolous activity.

But she sees him trying to speak up, and talks right over him—"As your superior, it's my duty to keep you focused on the tasks at hand. Lack of attention is deadly, no matter  _what else_ is happening,  _wherever_  that may be."

And  _that_  stops him cold.

Had she seen it? The look of waiting on his face, the impatience he felt these past days, ready to take off at a moment's notice? The desire he felt to not be here, but to be at different Inspector's side again, to lay his fist against his best friend's face?

He already has his answer.

_Yes_.

She has.

His eyes refocus on the Inspector; on her long, unbound hair and the stern bent of her mouth and the stubborn gleam in her eye. And he doesn't see all of the things that she's  _not_. He admits to himself that he's done her wrong, thinking of her the way he does: the antithesis of Tsunemori.

He finally starts to see all of the things that she  _is_ , sadly because she has tried—and succeeded—at seeing him. And what's more—she's decided to care, in her own odd way.

He unlinks his hands and bows forward, just the slightest bit. He registers a quiet gasp from her. When he unbends himself, she's started to shake with embarrassment and fury.

He allows himself a very small smile. "Well, then I must thank you, Inspector."

Her mouth screws up into a scowl and her cheeks are plainly pink. "I wasn't doing it for you, Enforcer Ginoza! If you did something foolish out there, it'd be my neck on the chopping block," she tells him, still fuming.

"Of course," he cedes, bowing again, taking the opportunity to fluster her more.

Her choked reply sounds mysteriously like,  _stop that!_

So when they make eye contact again, he merely indicates with a hand that she should proceed inside again. Left with no choice, she makes the best of the situation by turning up her nose at him, adjusting her skirt and deliberately taking graceful, measured steps off of the balcony.

He steals one last look out over the skyscrapers and the roads and the blue of the sky.

And then he nearly laughs.

_Who would've thought_?

(When he sits down at his desk a minute later, he finds a hairtie gone and the Inspector's hair bound up again, as usual.

And he can't find it in himself to mind too much.)

 

**+**

 

**SUGO**

 

Buoyed by the events of the day, Ginoza hits the gym with an enthusiastic energy. He's never been too strict on himself when it comes to working out—that kind of discipline would imply a dedication to musculature that he doesn't have—but he is one for routine. Wednesdays have always been for mid-week cardio, so usually he finds himself doing a solid 90 minutes on the treadmill. (Saturdays, he spars with drones, while Tsunemori works on her core—)

Today, there is a new face at the gym.

"Ginoza-san," greets Sugo, looking to have just begun his own workout. He's walking at a very quick pace, and as Ginoza walks over, he increases his speed at bit.

"Hello, Sugo-san," he replies, stepping onto the treadmill to Sugo's left. "Changing it up today?"

Sugo clears his throat. "Pardon me?"

Setting his starting speed, Ginoza begins at a light, brisk pace. "What I mean is that you're not usually here Wednesday evenings," he observes.

Sugo clears his throat again, warring with a particularly stubborn frog in his throat ( _or with his own nerves_ , Ginoza suspects, from previous experience). "Erm, that's right, sir," Sugo says, beginning to sweat despite the warm-up.

Sugo reverts back to calling him  _sir_  when he's truly out-of-sorts, so Ginoza knows to ease up. "Relax, Sugo. You don't owe me an explanation. I was simply making conversation," he says. He knows that Sugo has been stoically devoted to him ever since the Kamui incident, and he has no intention of preying on that devotion. He's even tried to dissuade Sugo from time to time, but he's been stunningly unsuccessful. Every attempt is met with a firm shake of the head and a simple assertion:  _let me do this, Ginoza-san_.

Ginoza knows that receiving the loyalty of such a serious person is no light responsibility. He's careful when he speaks to Sugo. (Sometimes he wonders if this is how Tsunemori feels about him, then he immediately feels embarrassed afterward.)

"Oh. Right," comes the reply, sounding less than confident. Sugo has his water bottle in hand and takes a large gulp. Ginoza watches him from the corner of his eye, notes the squirminess of his posture and the unease across his features.

Ginoza increases his speed and bides his time.

Ten minutes later, when Sugo starts to actually  _wring his hands_ , Ginoza decides to finally do something. He adjusts his speed to one he can easily talk at. He looks over at his colleague. "Sugo-san, what is it?"

Sugo looks at him guiltily then, and it's an odd combination: such a sheepish expression on so strong and broad a person. He's never seen Sugo like this before.

"Ginoza-san, I have to tell you something," Sugo says.

Ginoza holds his silence and nods. What could it be? What could have made Sugo change his schedule, when he's as regimented in his downtime as Ginoza is himself? Ginoza's mind jumps— _Risa?_ Sugo has to know that it's long been water under the bridge...

And as Ginoza's mind jumps to all manner of horrors, Sugo stutters out, honestly,  _earnestly_ , "I'm worried about you."

Ginoza's brain takes a moment to catch up. "Pardon me?"

Sugo's chest begins to flush pink, and it's almost certainly not from exertion. He stops his treadmill entirely. Ginoza follows his lead and stops his too.

"Ginoza-san, it's hard for me to express myself in words. You'll have to excuse my... ineloquence," he says, barely able to look up. "I've just noticed that your manner is different lately."

He feels caught off guard. "I—what do you mean?"

Sugo's gaze swings guiltily to the side, and it all makes Ginoza feel odd himself, that his stoic colleague could be reduced to this, all for want of a more balanced partnership. "I've just noticed that ever since Inspector Tsunemori has left for Shambala Float, you've been incredibly tense."

He reacts physically to this—his shoulders lock back—so he knows that what Sugo is saying is, in fact, true. He feels that with just this one observation, he's been made. (And he's not really sure how to feel about it.) "I admit that I have not been sleeping well," he allows.

Now, Sugo glances at him. "You're worried about her. And your old friend?"

He's quiet for a long time. He inclines his head and breathes evenly, considering. He  _knows_  that he's worried—of course he's worried. But admitting it to Sugo is another matter. He doesn't need to give Sugo any more burdens than he's already unfairly taken on. He really should be worrying about himself.

"I never want to overstep, Ginoza-san," Sugo says now, interrupting his contemplations, "A man is entitled to his privacy. But please know"—and now, Sugo's nervousness falls away, and he is meeting Ginoza's gaze with honest kindness—"I am proud to be your colleague and willing to be a friend."

_Lean on me_ , Ginoza hears.

His lips part, but no words come. First, Inspector Shimotsuki. And now Sugo.

When did he get to be this pathetic?

(Going to pieces over one coworker.)

(Thousands of miles away, caught in the middle of God-knows-what, trying to bring that bonehead back—)

( _Could it be?_ )

And then he begins to laugh.

The sound of it in the mostly-empty gym is startling, but he can't stop. This is utterly  _hilarious_  and  _damn it_ , if he can't do anything else, he's going to laugh at his own helplessness. He's traded in one set of problems for a whole other.

( _Hairties._ )

He's almost forgotten that Sugo is still there and that they're in the middle of having a conversation and that social norms dictate that he respond to Sugo's concerns. Sugo is a normal person though, even with the latent criminal tag, so he tries to bridge the gap. "Ginoza-san, what's going on?"

Ginoza bites back his laughter, something he's hardly ever done in his life, and it feels unnatural. He wants to go on laughing until he  _doesn't feel this way anymore_.

(Who's the bonehead now?)

"Sugo-san, I've been unfair to you," he says, emboldened. Sugo's already seen so much of him that he may as well continue.

Sugo's eyebrows shoot up. "I hardly think so, sir."

"No, I really have," Ginoza insists, shaking his head. "I haven't been honest with you. You've had to read me this entire time."

Sugo's response is quick and absolute, "That's how you are though. You don't like to burden others with your feelings or opinions. That's why—that's why I think you need more of us around."

"Us?" Ginoza asks, mild curiosity passing over his features.

"People like Inspector Tsunemori and I. People who can read you," Sugo says, simply.

Ginoza's breath hitches in his throat.

And then he straightens up and addresses his friend directly, "Thank you, Sugo-san."

The look on Sugo's face is decidedly content. "You're welcome, si—"

"Don't call me sir," Ginoza cuts in, on the edge of a laugh. "At least without expecting an eyeroll in return."

If at all possible, the contentedness on Sugo's face grows. "Absolutely, Ginoza-san."

They start up on their treadmills again, sweating in synchronicity, and as time passes their conversation comes rolling in.

Ginoza falls asleep that night with an arm thrown over his eyes, a smile on his face and Dime curled at his feet. To know that he's come to rely on his team so much in these past few years is an odd feeling. He supposes that's what happens when someone allows themselves to care.

It's certainly odd. But it's... nice, he supposes.

(And his thoughts about cigarettes and cybernetic arms and hairties—he keeps those at bay, suspecting those to be of a different beast entirely.)

 

**+**

 

**KARANOMORI**

 

The call to arms comes at the crack of dawn, and Ginoza is wholly unprepared for it.

But that's probably because the call comes from Karanomori. (And she actually  _tries_  to catch people off guard.)

"Hello?" he mumbles into the receiver, half-delirious from lack of sleep. Dime hops off of his bed, disturbed by his owner's human eccentricities, and retreats to his overstuffed pillow.

"Good morning, Gino-kun," the analyst's voice purrs into his ear, "how are you?"

Too tired to do anything other than mash the heel of his palm into his closed eye, he remains silent for a moment. Dime has gone back to sleep, posed pristinely a few feet away.

"Grouchy, aren't you? Well, I have something that will cheer you up," Karanomori says, and he can hear the sound of her lips against a cigarette, her long pull.

He's not really grouchy—in fact, after the past day he's relatively mellow—but it wouldn't hurt for her to think it. He cuts to the chase, "What is it, Karanomori-san?"

"Get ready to suit up, Gino-kun. Akane-chan needs you," she says, and he completely misses the way her tone has become thoroughly suggestive because she's talking about—

" _What_?" he hisses into the phone, blinking himself awake.

He can practically  _see_  the eyeroll. "I said what I said, didn't I? Akane-chan needs you to fly to her. I expect you'll be called in any moment now by our Miss Inspector Shimotsuki."

He's already out of bed and pulling off his sleep clothes, keeping the phone pinned to his ear. He has to actively keep his cybernetic hand from inadvertently crushing his phone. Dime stirs, awakened by his master's palpable stress. "Karanomori, fill me in," he orders. His methodical approach to a case has kicked in and he'll follow through until the end.

"My, my, you weren't half as excited when it was just little ol' me," the analyst says, smug. Nonetheless, she delivers—"Akane-chan has gotten herself into a tight spot. Shambala Float's military is a nest of latent criminals, and they've been using the system as a front."

"For what?" he barks, nearly ripping his sleeve as he pulls on his dress shirt.

Karanomori must detect how worried he is because she lays off the teasing. "Evidence would suggest that it's to keep the rest of the population muzzled while the soldiers take out the guerillas."

He pins the phone between his shoulder and ear. He does his tie in a hurry. The years have made him an expert. "You checked their psycho passes?"

"All well over 100. Some even 300," she relays.

And though he's not one to cuss—" _Shit_."

"That's what I said," Karanomori tells him, back to her usual self. He can picture her leaning back in her high-backed chair, crossing her legs at the ankle atop her console. "As you can tell, Akane-chan is going to be in trouble, if not now then soon. To say nothing of that idiot—"

"Have you been able to track her location?"

Karanomori pauses for a moment, obviously thinking on whether or not to comment on his blatant dismissal of Kougami. She brushes it aside—"She last reported to me from some kind of upscale apartment complex."

Just then, his phone begins to chime, a signal from his other line. Sure enough, the caller ID identifies it as Inspector Shimotsuki.

"Hold that thought, Karanomori-san," he says briskly, then switches the line. "Inspector Shimotsuki?"

"Get ready to move out in fifteen minutes, Enforcer. Meet in the lobby. We have a Shepherd to save," bites the girl at the end of the line.

"Yes, Inspector Shimotsuki," he responds, trying not to sound like he had advance notice.

There is a splash of hesitation on Shimotsuki's side. Then she says, "I'll provide details on the operation while we're in the air." And she cuts the call.

He barely has a moment to himself (to wonder about what Inspector Shimotsuki considers niceties) before Karanomori's voice is suddenly in his ear again—"My, my. What was that? Hesitation from our Shepherd number two?"

He only closes his eyes in resignation. He grabs one of his leather gloves from a drawer and pulls it on, extra sure in its fit. "Of course you were listening."

"I wouldn't be much of an analyst if I couldn't tap a phone call, now would I?" Karanomori throws back, sounding very pleased with herself.

"I trust you'll provide support from the headquarters?" he says, pulling his belt taut around his waist.

"What little I can," she sighs back, "Akane-chan gave me access, but you'll need to do more work than usual. Work that flab off."

He sighs, impatience lessening his tolerance for her antics. "Just compile the data and pass it on, Karanomori-san. Thanks for the advance notice."

"Yes, of course, of course!" she says back, her tone as conciliatory as possible for her. "Give my love to Akane-chan! And that last bit was just a joke—I know you're looking fit these days,  _Gino-kun_. Ciao!"

He opens his mouth to respond to her admissions of  _spying on him in the gym_ , but she's already hung up. Typical. He pinches the bridge of his nose and strides over to Dime. He buries his hand in his companion's fur, an affectionate farewell, then he's out the door and practically running down to the lobby.

"Hound one, reporting for duty."

 

**+**

 

**KUNIZUKA**

 

From the surveillance cameras Karanomori has managed to tap, the situation is going downhill extremely quickly. The last images Karanomori has of the Inspector are of her knocked out cold on the floor of a dwelling, and he feels ice hit his veins on their first viewing of the video. After the footage cuts out, he turns stiffly around and heads to the back of the helicopter, drawing up a plan.

"Intel suggests that Shepherd one is on a military airstrip," Inspector Shimotsuki tells them all after the replay. "And there is reason to suspect that a fugitive—Kougami Shinya—is there as well."

He never doubted either of them for a second. Trust them both to be in the middle of a high-profile, life-risking scuffle.

Which of course means that he has to be the one to pull their feet out of the fire.

Inspector Shimotsuki orders that Kougami be ideally subdued and taken back to Japan, and if his resistance "reaches inconvenient levels" that there are orders to eliminate him. Ginoza hears the words, but he doesn't really believe that he could ever follow them. Naturally, rescuing Inspector Tsunemori is their first priority, with the elimination of the Shambala Float military as their second priority. In all the confusion Kougami will probably slip away, forgotten. Ginoza can already picture it all happening. If Kougami is good at one thing, it's surviving.

Which makes his decision on where he has to be that much easier.

The pilot relays back to them all that there are approximately ten minutes until they're over the airstrip. He begins setting up the Assault Dominator, anticipating its use. His hands are steady and sure, fluid over the pieces. It gives him something to focus on, keeps his mind off of the surveillance tapes. As he completes the barrel, Kunizuka silently bends down next to him and sets up the mount. He spares a quick glance at her and she senses it, taking her eyes from the pedestal.

They're both similar in the way that they both don't often express emotions, though they certainly feel them. And no shift in facial features or nod of the head is needed—just fleeting eye contact—and understanding passes between them. They resume the assembly of the Assault Dominator. Kunizuka is the sensible one, the solid one, the one he can look to for an honest—and frankly, bracing—opinion. If she thinks he needs backup, he most undoubtedly does—but knowing he has her as a teammate more than makes up for what he is lacking.

"Two minutes out," the pilot reports. Shimotsuki takes a Dominator in hand. Kunizuka holds the gun and mount in place as Ginoza attaches the barrel. In Sugo and Hinakawa's helicopter, identical things are no doubt happening.

Kunizuka knows his preferences so well that he doesn't need to adjust the gun at all—it's perfect. He looks up at her while she's prepping the gear for dismount. She looks back as if to say,  _go._

And Ginoza can't argue with that. Kunizuka pulls open the door, her hair instantly whipping in the wind. He kneels, takes aim at the nicest uniform of the bunch, pulls the trigger, and—

He hits the Colonel dead-centre.

 

**+**

 

_From this point, his auto-pilot takes over:_

_He fires shot after shot, the lethal eliminator dealing with its targets in the most final and bloody of ways._  
_When he finally touches down on the pavement, he notices the bruise blooming along her hairline._  
_But this is not the time or place, so he holds his tongue._  
_When she sends him away to find Kougami, he knows she's only doing so because she is dealing with something that is far more menacing—_  
_and he has no idea what those things may be._

_And it scares him._

_But mostly, it makes him proud, that she could surpass him so completely._

 

**+**

 

**KOUGAMI**

 

"Shit, your right hook got a lot better."

From his seat on the metal slab, he tips his head slightly in the direction of his stupid best friend. Kougami is massaging his jaw slightly, even going so far as to test the mobility of the joint. Ginoza thinks back on the wicked punch he delivered to his friend's face moments ago—he did put his whole arm into it, so it's conceivable that he did some damage. But Kougami is the toughest person he's ever known (except for Inspector Tsunemori) so he suspects that aside from some swelling, he'll be fine.

Ginoza is exhausted and the adrenalin in his system is nearly all gone. He stares at the full moon. His words slip free from his mouth without a thought, loaded with snark. "Want to test my left hook?"

Kougami eyes his cybernetic arm. "Screw you," he laughs.

Ginoza smiles and shakes his head. He stands and offers an outstretched hand. Kougami takes it without a thought.

"You've loosened up, Ginoza," Kougami observes.

He just rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

Kougami pauses for a moment. Then he looks Ginoza in the eye, testing the waters. "Is work better?"

"This roundabout stuff doesn't suit you, knucklehead," he deadpans, though he can't find it in himself to be truly annoyed. "What are you really asking?"

Kougami looks at him— _really looks_ —as if seeing into the very core of him, the reason and rhyme of him. He's always been able to see past facades and brave faces—a trait that served them both extremely well over the course of their friendship, as masks are largely what Ginoza presented to the world. In hindsight, it's probably why they stayed friends for so long. Ginoza just couldn't spoon-feed him the same lies he did everyone else.

Now, Kougami crosses his arms and lets out a long breath. "She's an incredible person," he says.

Ginoza takes a moment to let the words and all their implications sink in. In the past, with these observations, Kougami always managed to catch him off-guard, always made him feel transparent and foolish.

But this time, he's not trying to hide. And so, with Kougami's words, he feels... free.

The light of the moon highlights the nod of his head.  "Yes," he answers.

Kougami doubles down. "You've pledged to stay by her side, haven't you?"

He lifts his chin. "For as long as I'm able."

Kougami receives his answers with a smirk. He buries a hand in his hair, a movement that would be bashful on anyone else. "Well, shit. Didn't think I'd ever hear you being so honest with me."

He narrows his eyes in fond exasperation. "Don't worry. It's not to your credit."

His best friend laughs. And after the laughter fades and the quiet of night settles in a little deeper—"Hey, Ginoza."

"What is it, Kougami?" It's strange, how natural it feels to say his name again after not speaking it for so long.

There's an edge to Kougami's stare then, something bright and full of life and—dare he say it?—mischievous. Something he hasn't associated with his friend for a very long time. The look in Kougami's eyes, the air between them, and his own heightened sense of awareness is enough for Ginoza to sense the words he wants to say.

_What is she to you?_

It's not anything they've ever talked about though, and it won't ever be. Ginoza simply looks to his friend, shakes his head and tips his gaze up to the sky. "I have somewhere else to be."

 

**+**

**AKANE III**

 

The clean-up at Shambala Float is not their responsibility, but they do get stuck giving their accounts to local (provisional) law enforcement. The rest of the team's accounts largely match up as they all stuck together, and they are all released to return to civilization while he and Tsunemori have to stay behind an extra six hours to give their testimonies.

Tsunemori goes first. She is honest, straight-faced and matter-of-fact, so despite the volume of information she is privy to, he suspects it'll go quickly.

He'll have to tell the detective that Kougami got away. It's a white lie: he had given Kougami ten minutes to get away before returning to the airstrip and delivering the bad news. He thinks it was probably eight minutes too many as Kougami could thoroughly disappear into virtual vapour if he wanted to. But then again, he needs to pull his punches.

His best friend is a wanted criminal, after all.

"Mister Ginoza," the guard calls from down the hall.

Sure enough, Tsunemori finished her story with time to spare.

He rises, not bothering to smooth the wrinkles in his suit—there are too many. He knows he smells stale, like still air and grimy earth. Occupational hazards.

Tsunemori walks past him very slowly in the hall, sparing him only a short glance, darting her eyes toward the door on the far side of the room.

He nods, knowing where to find her when this is over. He can already smell the cigarette smoke.

But when he goes to her on the steps after his testimony (short, but not sweet), he is met with something else.

He stands at her back, contemplating the lack of smoke curling into the air. Surely, she has them still. The same brand that Kougami smoked—the stench of unfiltered cigarette clinging forever to the vestiges of every suit he owns, then and now. (It goes without saying: then, Kougami; now, Tsunemori.) The scent is inextricably linked to them both. But where it was a natural part of Kougami, stubborn and unavoidable, Ginoza can't help but think that it only stifles Tsunemori.

"Kougami disappeared again, didn't he?"

_Yes. He also asked me a lot of personal questions and I punched him in his perfect teeth. Seeing him was good mainly for that reason._ _It felt like too much and not enough at the same time, considering_ — _considering we might not see him ever again. But I'm okay. I've been okay._

Clearly, he wants to say a lot of things, but what he ends up saying is, "He's a common criminal now—not worth your concern." His expression is carefully neutral. She needs to move on from this debacle as fast as possible, if he's reading the bags under her eyes correctly, and part of that is dealing with Kougami efficiently.

She stands up, turns in place and looks up at him on the landing. Her eyes are soft with sleepiness but retain their analytical edge; sharp and clever, too wise for the young face they are nestled in. "You haven't changed, Ginoza," she observes, "still trying to shoulder everyone's burdens."

His eyebrows nearly pique. Is he that transparent then?

She takes the couple of steps forward, closing the gap between them. Behind her, their escort to the airport arrives.

She reaches forward easily, taking his wrist in hand like that day in front of the interrogation room. Her fingers slip past his cuff to find the soft underside of his wrist. Her lips barely turn upward, but he knows she is smiling. "Come on," she softly says, then lets go.

But before she can, he squeezes back.

As they descend the steps together, he catches sight of a distinctive blue box filled with cigarettes lying abandoned on the ground. The cardboard is soaked through with dirty rainwater. Only one cigarette is missing.

She's always one step ahead of him.

He can't find it in himself to be that surprised.

 

**+**

 

_— fin_


End file.
